Silver
by Liza J. Marcato
Entering the intimate noises
of my apartment, late
in the silver of night, my teenagers asleep,
I chase down a wish I've had
to wash the old wound
between us. I used to wish one day
my princess would come,
the green one, tender
and tough like you, and as hungry,
as whole. What I have left of your is
a scratched silver ring, too large for my small finger, and too tight for the
next biggest, belonging
still only to your hand;
a picture of you at the ocean,
just before twilight, pink towel
wrapped around your shoulders, standing in the surf,
far away;
and these sudden hungers are all mine now.
Do you ever wonder
if it's possible we could
understand one another
and how is it we have to let go
our grasp?